


Archimedes' Principle

by EpicCurves



Series: Bad Wolf [3]
Category: Doctor Who, Sarah Jane Adventures, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Self-Loathing, Slitheen, Tea
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-29
Updated: 2014-03-20
Packaged: 2018-01-06 13:31:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1107444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EpicCurves/pseuds/EpicCurves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe if he’d still been human, this move would have been perfect for him. Maybe, if he were better at the werewolf thing, he could truly be a star here. Or maybe, if they had picked any other region of London to move to, he’d have been able to fade into the background and lived a semi-normal life. But life isn’t beholden to the maybes. Life does what it will, usually picking the most artful way to fuck you over and leave you to rot alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I lied, I have a bit more to post before I vanish into the wild. Wanted to leave you with something better, something I’m more excited about. And I know you totally thought you’d get some resolution on that cliffhanger, but NOPE! I’m evil like that. Gonna make it worse, instead, mwahaha! ‘Cuz, sorry, this story isn’t finished yet, and there won’t be time for me to do so before I go.
> 
> But I needed to write this, because Jackson’s in London, beautifully primed for his very own Doctor-y adventure, and for some inexplicable reason, I have a soft spot for the dude. Timelines are wibbly-wobbly enough that I may be able to tie him in to the next part of the Stiles saga anyways, so think of it as another prequel-ish for what’s to come.
> 
> Fair warning: I will be waxing poetic about tea at least once in this story. It does serve a purpose to the plot, to some extent. But… tea! It fixes everything, right? There exists no illness, no heartbreak, no trouble in the world, that cannot be cured by the right cup of tea. That is my belief, and I’m sticking to it.

Some days are easier than others. The move to London was a pretty good idea, actually, in theory. Jackson was never well-suited to living in Beacon Hills. Little town in the Middle of Bumfuck Nowhere, California, filled with people with no ambition, no drive to ever leave or grow or change. Jackson’s meant for so much more than that. And okay, so maybe that makes him sound like Belle from Beauty and the Beast. But he refuses to be the Disney Princess in this story.

He never appreciated, before, how easy he had everything back in Beacon Hills. Rich parents, captain of the lacrosse team, dating the most beautiful and brilliant girl in school. Pretty and popular, the world at his fingertips.

He fits better here in London. People challenge him here. It’s not something he’s used to, but it’s something he thrives on. Or he would thrive, if not for the whole werewolf thing.

The timing of the move was awful. He’d just been cured of the kanima business, through the power of love or whatever-- and oh, shit, he’s a Disney Princess again, cured by true love’s kiss-- transformed into a werewolf, brought back to life, et cetera. Derek had given him the crash course on How to be a Non-Murderous Werewolf before he’d left. It had helped, sure, but being a newly-made werewolf, barely in control of his shifts, no practice at controlling his strength around regular humans, leaving behind his pack and his anchor all at once, not to mention recovering from the psychological scarring of his stint as a mind-controlled murderous revenge lizard… well. It was a recipe for disaster.

Derek hadn’t known any of the London packs, didn’t have the right contacts to get Jackson established anywhere. There must be some, somewhere, Jackson is sure of it. But he has no idea where to look, or how to approach them if he ever did find them. Unsurprisingly, Derek, Mr. I-was-never-meant-to-be-an-Alpha, didn’t have much to offer in the way of diplomatic advice.

The first full moon alone was hell, absolute hell. Every movement made him want to chase, every sound felt like an insult, every scent an assault against him. He barricaded himself in his room, built a nest out of pillows and blankets and a few of Lydia’s old scarves he’d stolen to try to hold on to her scent, but he still woke up early the next morning halfway across the city and covered in mud, no memory of how he got there. At least there weren’t any bloodstains. At least he probably hadn’t hurt anyone.

He’d gotten off to a rocky start, but he’d mostly gotten a handle on things over the summer. He hardly ever loses control at home now, and when he does, he can just brew himself a cup of tea and retreat to his room. The ritual of brewing and drinking a quality cup of tea is soothing, and he understands, very well now, how the British gained their reputation for using the brew as a cure-all, for pains both physical and emotional.

The start of the school year had brought a whole new set of stressors for him. He was no longer the smartest, the richest, the best-looking boy in town-- okay, still the best-looking, let’s be honest. He wasn’t instantly popular. His naturally-abrasive personality did him no favors in gaining new friends. He ended up being mostly left alone, ignored by his peers. It wasn’t something he was used to, wasn’t a situation he was well-adapted for. He tried to fill the gaping hole of his lack of social life by pouring himself into his studies instead.

There’s no lacrosse team at his new school. Probably for the best, anyway. Too much opportunity for him to completely lose it doing contact sports. His parents want him to do some sort of activity, though, so he grudgingly concedes to joining the swim team. Maybe it’ll be good for him, eventually. He can learn how to hide his strength while still being the best at something he enjoys.

Maybe if he’d still been human, this move would have been perfect for him. Maybe, if he were better at the werewolf thing, he could truly be a star here. Or maybe, if they had picked any other region of London to move to, he’d have been able to fade into the background and lived a semi-normal life. But life isn’t beholden to the maybes. Life does what it will, usually picking the most artful way to fuck you over and leave you to rot alone.

Jackson remembers being an optimist, once. Back when life was easy. Back before werewolves, back when he had a girlfriend who loved him and a best friend who trusted him. When the fuck did life get so complicated? Why can’t anything ever just be simple?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note: I’m USA born and raised, all my knowledge of British culture comes from TV and the internet. I don’t have anyone to Britpick my works, either, so I apologize for my lack of education when it comes to slang, the inner workings of the school system, etc. I’ll do my best.
> 
> I’m maybe fudging the timeline a little bit for SJA to make this work the way I need it to, but I’m trying to keep it as consistent with canon as possible. For the sake of argument, we’ll assume Clyde and Rani each have one more year of school to complete at Park Vale, Sky’s apparent age is 13ish and she’s been with Sarah Jane for the better part of a year, and Luke is primarily still at Oxford but will swing by for visits when applicable. The last season was set sometime in 2011, so even if I am getting it wrong, I’m only off by about a year anyways. Hopefully a forgivable offense.
> 
> Also note: the events of this adventure start shortly after the beginning of the UK school year, so events of TW Season 3A are still kind of happening in Beacon Hills. And Rose has a vortex manipulator, so time travel. Wibbly wobbly, time-y wimey… It’ll make sense in the end. Maybe. Probably.

Life on Bannerman Road was supposed to be quiet. The neighborhood looks great on paper. Good schools, friendly people, easy access to public transportation… Everything they could ever need. It’s a peaceful neighborhood, too. No “animal attacks” make it to the papers, no teenaged serial killers take revenge for stupid childhood pranks. It almost seems too good to be true.

It was only a matter of time, then, before someone caught on and noticed his… condition.

He’s sitting in the school cafeteria, picking at the food on his tray, too lonely to really feel hungry right now, when three trays clatter onto the table around him and three students plop down into the seats across from and beside him. He looks up, shocked. No one sits with him, usually, especially not willingly. He could probably spend his lunches with his swim teammates, but he’s not actually friends with any of them. Just comrades.

None of the three around him are in any of his classes. Two, the Indian girl and her maybe-boyfriend, he knows are in his year, and the third is a girl he thinks is four years behind him. None of them are in any type of sport, as far as he knows… None of them have any business knowing him, have no reason he knows of to approach him.

“What the hell.” he says, because what the hell do the headmaster’s daughter, the school’s star artist, and the weird journalist’s daughter from down the street want with him? What the hell kind of school has a star _artist_ , anyway? Seriously, England is weird.

“Hi!” the older girl greets with a friendly smile. “We just realized you haven’t really gotten a proper welcome here. So, welcome to Ealing. I’m Rani, this is Clyde and Sky.” She extends her hand across the table for him to shake. He eyes her suspiciously and makes no move to return the gesture.

“What. The hell,” he repeats, because he can tell these guys are up to something. They’ve gotta be up to something, if they’re willingly talking to him. Rani’s smile fades and she slowly pulls back her hand.

The boy-- Clyde-- is clearly having none of his bullshit. He frowns and leans forward across the table to get in Jackson’s face, bracing his forearms on either side of his tray. “What’s your story, mate? What are you?”

Jackson narrows his eyes and leans forward into the other boy’s space, ignoring the increase in his own heart rate as he worries about what the boy thinks he knows. “I don’t know what the hell you _think_ you know, but trust me on this, _mate_ ,” he says coolly, spitting out the last word like an insult, “you know nothing about me. Absolutely nothing. And trust me, you probably don’t want to.” He needs some tea. Needs the warmth and the bitterness to center him. Maybe he’ll invest in a thermos.

“We hear you were adopted. And we know you aren’t human,” Clyde announces, and Jackson barely stops himself from shifting out of panic. “So what _are_ you?”

Rani whacks Clyde on the arm. “ _Clyde!_ What are you doing? There’s such a thing as tact, you know,” she complains. She turns to give Jackson an apologetic smile. “Sorry about this idiot. Honestly, we can’t take him anywhere.”

Jackson decides these jokers are really not as intimidating as they’re pretending to be, disguises a relieved exhale as a disdainful sigh, and rolls his eyes. “Seriously? You’re gonna play Good Cop, Bad Cop at me?”

Clyde pulls back, crosses his arms, and pouts petulantly. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Jackson doesn’t have to listen to the other boy’s heartbeat to know he’s lying. This wasn’t an overture at friendship, then. Just some kids trying to find out what category of freak the new guy falls under. He sighs and sits back, picks his fork back up to poke at his food again. “Didn’t you get the memo? I’m just some asshole American kid. No one sits with me on purpose.”

The younger girl finally speaks up from her seat on Jackson’s left. “I’m adopted, too!” she says brightly, and he turns to fix her with a confused glare at the abrupt change in subject. “And so’s my brother. He’s at Oxford now. Isn’t it cool?”

He has no idea what to do in the face of such unbridled enthusiasm. He squints suspiciously and points his fork at the girl, holding it like a weapon between them, and slowly leans forward to ask Rani, “Is she for real?”

Rani groans and facepalms. “This is so not going according to plan. Clyde, you are the worst. I’m not talking to you right now.” She gathers her things and leaves the table in a huff, and Clyde follows like the lost puppy he so clearly is. Jackson rolls his eyes at them again and goes back to poking his lunch. He absently tunes into their conversation as they walk away. Gives a self-satisfied smirk as he hears her cuff him over the head and him yelp in surprised pain. “Clyde, you idiot, we were supposed to try to make friends with him!”

“But there’s something seriously wrong with that guy! I can tell. He’s, like, freaky strong, I heard all these weird noises coming from his house last week, and sometimes his face gets all funny.” Jackson curses inwardly. The full moon had been rough last week. He’ll have to be more careful.

“Maybe you’re right, but you can’t just go accusing people of being aliens. What if he’s dangerous? He could be--”

He’s startled out of his reverie by the girl still sitting beside him deciding to speak up. He’d completely forgotten she was there. “Are you human?” she asks. Well, gotta admire her straightforward approach.

“Why? Are you?” He quirks an eyebrow at her and twirls his fork in his hand.

She shrugs nonchalantly. “Sort of. Mostly.”

He doesn’t really know how to respond to that. He was certainly not expecting it. “Oh. Me, too.” _Sort of, mostly_ human. He decides he likes that. Vague enough to be true, hopefully detailed enough to prevent further questioning.

She grins at him, like he’s the best thing she’s ever seen. “Cool! I’m Sky Smith, by the way. I live down the street from you.”

He frowns at her for another minute before deciding she’s at least earned an introduction. “Jackson Whittemore,” he says, holding his fist out for her to bump instead of going for a handshake. She smells a bit odd, like hot metal and electricity. He’s not sure he wants that scent on his hand for the rest of the day.

She looks confused for a second, but then her face clears and she grins again as she bumps his fist daintily. “Nice to meet you, Jackson.”

He pauses to study her for a moment. She seems friendly enough, but he doesn’t know if it’s anything more than morbid curiosity like the others had. “You should go find your friends,” he suggests. “They think I’m a big bad monster out to kill you all.”

“Oh, yeah. Sarah Jane says Clyde’s ‘going through a phase,’” she informs with a nod. He can practically hear the air quotes. She stands and gathers her things to follow her friends, but pauses to speak to him again before she leaves. “I know you’re not, though.”

“Don’t be too sure,” he grumbles as she walks away. He knows exactly what kind of monster he can become when he loses control. He’ll just have to try harder.

He’s lost his appetite. He shoves his tray aside and pulls out his chemistry textbook. He needs something to focus on besides his absolute failure of a social life, and study will have to suffice until he can get home to brew himself some tea.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Graphic depictions of teamaking. That is not a euphemism. Also, Feels like woah. I made myself depressed just writing this.

He doesn’t even remember what they’re fighting about this time. Some stupid argument about how he ‘never spends time with them any more’, or for being a sarcastic little shit all the time, or his apparent lack of dedication to the swim team since he wasn’t automatically made team captain, or some other bullshit excuse for them to just yell at him for not being the son they signed up for when they adopted him. What-the-fuck-ever.

He’s not even angry at them any more. It’s probably all his fault, anyway. He’s _not_ perfect, despite how much he pretends to be. He’s selfish, and narcissistic, and greedy, and cynical. He’s a tool. Allowed himself to become a literal one when he asked for the Bite. He wanted to be the best, thought he’d be able to be the best at everything, but instead it just turned him into an instrument, played for the fool he so clearly is.

Sometimes he just wishes he’d stayed dead, when Gerard had made him gut himself, or when Derek had taken him out. It had been a mercy at that point. He’d been turned into a killer, slaughtered innocent people for no good reason, and he couldn’t face it any more. Death was everything he deserved. But life rarely gives you what you want. The universe isn’t merciful.

Whatever the argument was about doesn’t matter. Jackson’s thought so much worse of himself than anything his parents can ever accuse him of doing or being. He hates himself more than anyone else ever could.

Jackson feels his fingertips lengthening into claws and squeezes his eyes shut to hide the change in color. He takes a deep breath and walks to the kitchen on autopilot. His parents are yelling after him, calling him back, _we’re not finished with you yet, young man!_ , but he can’t be here right now. He needs to retreat while he’s still capable of reigning himself in.

He takes his time picking his tea, running his fingers gently over the tins in the cupboard. Green isn’t going to cut it right now. He needs something stronger, dark like his soul, bitter and dry like the crippling loneliness consuming his heart. He picks up the English Breakfast, opens the tin to sniff it, puts it back. Repeats with the Assam. Doesn’t even touch his favorite Orange Spice. He doesn’t deserve favorites right now. His hand pauses over the two Earl Grey varieties. One of them is touchier, easily turns bitter without exactly the right attention given, while the other is smoother and more forgiving. He picks up the former.

He follows his tea-making ritual one step at a time. Efficiency isn’t important right now. His father has come in from the living room, is now standing in the entry to the kitchen and talking at him. Jackson ignores him, fills the kettle with filtered water and sets it to boil.

His father is getting frustrated, angry at being ignored. Jackson tunes him out and stares unblinkingly at the kettle. Another couple minutes of one-sided yelling, and the kettle whistles. Jackson’s father throws his hands up in defeat and leaves the room.

Jackson pours the water into his mug, over the infuser, and notes the time on his watch. Stares blankly for one minute as color slowly bleeds from the infuser. Stirs once, inhales the sharp citrus tang, waits another minute. Swirls the infuser in the mug for the remaining minute and forty-seven seconds this brew demands. Pulls out the infuser, watches the red-brown water drain back into the mug until the very last drop reluctantly falls.

He cradles the mug in his palms for a moment, revels in the burn against his skin, inhales the scent as the steam rises in gentle curls from the surface. Lemon-y citrus with a bitter edge, sharp and harsh and unforgiving. He walks to his room, settles into the plush armchair by his window, watches the world outside while he waits for the tea to cool to the perfect drinking temperature.

He thinks about nothing as he drinks the tea, focuses his full attention on the experience. He’s grounded again, back in control, maybe even ready to face his troubles again once the mug is empty. He picked right when he chose this blend. The focus it demanded in its preparation centered him. The taste wavers precariously on the edge of too-harsh. He doesn’t need to be comforted right now, doesn’t want to be coddled. This is the kind of tea that takes no prisoners, holds him responsible for his actions, demands that he accept the consequences of what he’s done, man up and take whatever comes his way.

He comes back to himself as the mug empties, slowly regains awareness of the world around him. He can face it again. He’s in control.

He walks out to the living room where his parents are sitting in angry silence. They look up when he clears his throat, his father glaring, his mother just looking sad. “I’m sorry,” he says. Their expressions turn shocked, and it occurs to him that he’s probably never apologized to them before, at least not sincerely, at least not for anything important.

His parents forgive him, because they don’t know how much of a monster he truly is. He won’t correct their error. Ignorance is bliss. He learned that the hard way.


	4. Chapter 4

It’s the fourth time in as many days that Sky Smith has plopped her tray down across from his in the cafeteria and eaten her lunch in cheerful silence. He has no idea what to make of it. She doesn’t speak to him at all besides an initial greeting as she sits, which he only glares at her for and never returns. Her other two friends glare back at him from a few tables away, whispering conspiratorially. He doesn’t have to tune in to their conversation to guess what they’re saying. More bullshit about how they think he’s a serial killer alien or whatever. Well, they’re half-right, at least. He has no inclination to correct them, though.

He’s resigned himself to having this enthusiastically mute shadow by now, not that he understands it. He still doesn’t like the smell of her, but she’s fairly unobtrusive. Doesn’t question him when he flinches at some overheard snippet of gossip about him from across the room and reaches for his thermos of tea. Doesn’t make fun of him for pulling out his textbooks and pushing aside his food like some gigantic loser nerd. Doesn’t seem to mind that he’s generally openly hostile to her when he isn’t actively pretending she doesn’t exist. She just ignores him right back with a contented smile on her face.

That won’t work for him today, though. He’s not in the mood for ignoring people, or being ignored. The fight with his parents last night put him on edge, and even though he’d gotten over the worst of it, he’s still feeling a bit tetchy.

“Don’t you have friends your own age?” he snaps at her as she sits down.

She shrugs like it’s nothing. “Not really. Most of my classmates think I’m weird.”

Hm. Well, she kind of is. “What about Clyde and Rani, then? Why don’t you sit with them any more?”

Again with the shrugging. “I hang out with them after school all the time. You need friends here more than they do.”

He makes a disgusted face at her. “We aren’t friends.”

“Not yet, we aren’t,” she says with a grin.

“We _aren’t going to be_ friends. Ever,” he growls. He doesn’t understand why she’s doing this, why she bothers trying when no one else does. Everyone else is afraid of him, even if they don’t know why. And they should be.

“Yes we are,” she reiterates brightly.

Well, he’s not going to let himself be reduced to a sullen six-year-old in a _yeah huh, nuh uh, yeah huh_ endless cycle of bickering, as tempting as it is. “Why,” he demands instead with an exaggerated sigh and eyeroll. Because petulant two-year-old is much more his style.

“Because I know what you are,” she claims.

“What.” She doesn’t. She can’t. He’s been so careful.

“You’re a weapon,” she continues. “Or you were. I was, too. It’s okay.”

“A what.” He thinks he should consider punctuating his questions with question marks again someday, when he’s in a better mood.

“A weapon,” she repeats. “It’s why I was created, to end a war.”

“I wasn’t created to end a war,” he informs her, because it’s true and doesn’t give anything away. Not created to end a war. Not created to _end_ anything, just to cause wanton destruction at the whims of complete psychopaths.

“But you are a weapon. I can tell.” She’s still sickeningly cheerful about everything, even if she is turning out to be batshit insane.

He scrubs a hand down his face and mutters to himself about _ugh what the hell is it about him that brings out all the crazies, what even is his life_ , before giving up and slumping back in his seat. "Ugh. Fine. I know I'm gonna regret asking this, but fine. How can you tell." _Question marks_ , he reminds himself belatedly, _use them_.

She thinks about it for a minute. "You've isolated yourself from everybody, like you're afraid you'll hurt someone. And you don't trust anyone, like you're afraid someone will hurt you."

He shakes his head. "No one here can hurt me." Not unless someone's been growing a secret wolfsbane crop.

"Then you're afraid they can use you to hurt someone else," she amends.

"They can't," he repeats, but he's not as sure about that. He knows he was supposedly cured of the whole kanima business, but what if it's possible to relapse? He doesn't know how all this stuff works.

She shrugs. "You're still afraid of it."

He scowls and drops his gaze to glare accusingly at the sandwich sitting on his lunch tray. He won't confirm or deny any of her suppositions. She's pretty spot-on with her assessment, though. “What makes you think you know any of this about me?” he asks. He probably deserves a cookie for using the correct punctuation this time.

“I know because I’m the same,” she says with a smile, and that’s just the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard.

He scoffs. “Trust me, kid, you’re nothing like me.” She’s the brightest, happiest fuckin’ ray of sunshine he’s ever met. Nothing like him, all broken and bitter, hating the world and everything in it, especially himself.

“I think I _could_ be like you, though, if I’d ever had to _be_ the weapon I was intended to be.”

Well, that is just not okay. It doesn’t matter how crazy she is, or how much he dislikes her, she does not deserve to end up like him. No one does. Well, okay, maybe he can think of one or two people who do. But she’s definitely not on that list. And that means she should really not be spending time with him. “You should stay away from me,” he warns her, but he doesn’t manage to sound as threatening as he’d intended. Just defeated.

She’s still smiling, but her eyes betray her disappointment. “Okay,” she says, and gathers her tray. She walks over to join Rani and Clyde, who have been watching the exchange suspiciously.

He tunes in to their conversation as he deconstructs his sandwich. He has no intention of eating it, just wants something to do with his hands while he eavesdrops. Rani and Clyde are asking Sky what he’s said. “Nothing, really,” she reports, which is basically true.

“Well, then what did _you_ say?” Clyde asks.

“Sky, you know you need to be careful what you say about us, and yourself, and what we do,” Rani says before Sky can answer. She sounds worried, like she’s afraid Sky might’ve revealed some big secret or something. Jackson almost worries that they might be hunters for the briefest of moments, but then remembers their botched attempt at intimidation last Friday and decides they’re probably all just complete nutjobs.

“It’s not like he’s going to tell anyone anything. He doesn’t exactly have friends, as far as I can tell.” And that hurts a bit, coming from Sky. It’s obviously true, but that doesn’t mean he likes hearing people say it, especially ones who are usually nice to him, at least to his face.

“Did you at least find out what he is?” Jackson’s getting a bit sick of Clyde’s one-track-mind. _Get over yourself, dude_ , Jackson wants to tell him. _You are nowhere near as scary as you think you are_.

“Not yet,” Sky answers.

They start talking about someone called Sarah Jane, and aliens. Definitely nutjobs. Jackson tunes them out in favor of starting next week’s English homework. He’s not in danger of shifting right now, he’s not actually angry at anything, so doesn’t need to reach for his tea yet. But he still wants a distraction from everything else he’s pretending not to feel.

He pours some of his frustrations into that afternoon’s swim practice, focusing with all his might on tamping down on the super-strength. He doesn’t want to be the best by cheating today. It’s been getting easier to do that, lately. He doesn’t get as big a strength boost without a pack, anyway.

He’s still the best swimmer on the team, but he’s pretty sure it’s because he already would’ve been, before the Bite.

Sky is back to sitting across from him at his table the next day. He resolutely ignores her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably the last chapter I'll be able to post for a while, since the next one gets heavily into the plot and will require much more work and probably a lot more of me having a plan for where the story should actually go. I've mostly just been wingin' it so far. And my thought processes are not always linear, so I haven't just been working on contiguous sections of this story, or even just this part of the series. I won't have time to work on this and also finish everything I need to do before I have to go become a hermit in the woods. No idea when I'll have internet access again after the move. Apologies in advance for the wait. I'll try to make it worthwhile.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I lied again. One more update before I go. Not as much plot as I thought there'd be, but sets things up for later. In case you haven't picked up on it already, this is not a happy story. Jackson is in a bad place, mentally. Don't expect typical SJA-level happiness at any point in this fic. If that's what you're looking for, this is not the fic for you. It'll be okay, though. Eventually.

Jackson is relieved for all of five minutes when he hears about another new student joining his class, thinking maybe he’ll finally catch a break, have the gossip mill directed somewhere else for once, so he can just be left alone at last. His hope dies as soon as he catches the guy’s scent.

Whatever the guy is, he’s clearly not human. Jackson can tell that much easily. Not werewolf, either, though, which maybe should be a relief but just serves to make him worry about what the hell the dude actually is instead. He has his own particular brand of B.O., like really bad breath or something, and though he’s obviously trying to look and act human, however he’s doing it isn’t holding the human scent. It’s like he’s using a stale human-suit. The difference is not strong enough for human senses to pick up, but it’s enough to bother Jackson’s sensitive werewolf nose.

Jackson sighs heavily and shakes his head when New Guy side-eyes him warily and sits next to him in physics. He takes out a packet of gum and shoves it toward the guy, who just frowns at him, clearly puzzled. Jackson rolls his eyes. “Dude, your breath reeks,” he grumbles. He knows it’s not exactly the guy’s breath that’s the problem, but probably can’t hurt to make a peace offering. No need to make enemies with the unidentified non-humans just yet.

The guy-- John or Joe or Steve or something, Jackson doesn’t really care-- glares suspiciously at the gum for a moment, then at Jackson, then shrugs and accepts the offering. Jackson ignores him and flips to this week’s section of his textbook.

Jackson abandons all thoughts of uneasy truce the moment New Guy walks into the cafeteria during lunch. New Guy’s nostrils flare like he’s caught a scent, and he turns a predatory gaze on Jackson. Oh-- no, not on Jackson. On Sky. And that is Not Okay. Because even though Jackson doesn’t like or trust the kid, and she’s obviously completely off her rocker, she’s still just an innocent little girl.

“I don’t like him,” he mutters, still watching New Guy intently. Loud enough for Sky to hear, but not loud enough for anyone else of human-level hearing to pick up. New Guy makes no indication that he’s heard. Potentially not superhuman hearing, then, but likely enhanced sense of smell. New Guy sits with a group of nerds a few tables away, situating himself to keep Sky in direct line-of-sight.

“Don’t like who?” Sky asks, sounding surprised. Probably justifiably so. He hasn’t spoken to her in over a week.

“New Guy. Smells weird,” Jackson answers. He turns his glare back to his untouched macaroni and cheese, but keeps New Guy in his peripheral vision.

Sky twists in her seat to look. New Guy is fake-laughing at some joke one of the nerds has told. “He seems nice enough to me,” she says.

Endlessly optimistic, as always. He barely represses another eye roll. “Trust me. Stay away from him.”

“Like I should stay away from you?” She should not sound so innocently befuddled with a question like that. She should be snarky and annoying. At least then he’d know how to deal with her.

He can’t even find it in himself to feel offended right now, though. He’d rather save her than his pride. “No, for real,” he says, glancing again at New Guy, who’s trying to sneakily steal glances at Sky. “I mean, you should stay away from me, too, but I don’t actually want to hurt you. He does.”

“What does he smell like?” she asks, like that’s not a completely ridiculous question to ask someone. At least she has the courtesy to sound genuinely curious.

“Like he’s wearing a skin-suit. Trying to pass as human.” It sounds idiotic, now that he’s saying it out loud. He sighs and stabs violently at his macaroni. “Forget it. It’s stupid. Just, still. Stay away.” He shoves his tray aside in disgust and pulls out his history textbook.

She’s silent for a while, and when she speaks again, it’s not anything he thought she’d say. “Aren’t you going to eat that?” she asks, gesturing to his lunch tray.

“No,” he answers, and makes a note in the margin of his textbook about something he needs to crosscheck for his essay assignment later. Maybe she’s still hungry, maybe that’s why she asked. He nudges the tray toward her. “Have at it.”

“That’s not what I-- okay,” she sighs. He raises a questioning eyebrow at her, but she doesn’t clarify. He shrugs and gets back to work. Silence reigns for another minute before she speaks again, surprises him again. “You should come over later, tell Sarah Jane your concerns about the new guy.”

“What.” Nothing about that makes sense. First of all, no. He’s just being paranoid, and judging someone based solely on what he smells like, which is stupid. Secondly, he’d have to _explain_ the whole smell thing, which he’s not going to do. He’s already said too much, been way too unexpectedly honest with Sky. Also, just, what. No. He’s not going to her house. They aren’t even friends. It’d be awkward, to say the least.

“Well, if you really think he’s dangerous, maybe Sarah Jane needs to know. Maybe we can help.” She looks so hopeful and happy at the thought, he almost feels bad about turning her down.

“You tell her, then. I don’t care. I’m not the one he wants.” So maybe he feels a little protective of her, for whatever reason, but if she already has parents and friends to take care of her, it’s not his problem any more. She’s still better off without him.

“Okay,” she sighs again, with a heartbreakingly sad smile. He ignores her and focuses on his history book.

He keeps an eye on New Guy, in case he does something to reveal whatever it is he’s up to, but otherwise goes about his business as usual. Swim practice that afternoon is tough. He’s having trouble keeping his status as best swimmer on human strength alone, recently. It’s frustrating, but he probably deserves it. Whatever. Not like he wanted to be on the team in the first place, anyway. It’s more for his parents than for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major angst coming up in the next chapter. It's well underway already, so if I manage my time efficiently, I might be able to post it for you. No promises, but I'll try.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh jeez... This-- I don't even-- how did this-- aaaagh. I don't know how this happened, SJA is such a happy show, and then Jackson came along and he's all... angry and damaged and afraid now, and suddenly this. I'm-- just. Wow. Sorry.
> 
> Warnings for realsies this time, for depression, self-harm, and suicidal thoughts.

Jackson shatters his favorite mug when he tries to make tea the night of the next full moon.

He really wants to just punch a hole in the wall. Or through someone’s face. He clenches his fists, feels claws lengthening, cutting into his palms. He hates that he needs to be in control all the time.

He doesn’t know how Derek does this. The whole… not accidentally killing people thing. Derek did tell him it would be hard, especially without a pack. Being an Omega, the lone wolf. Born wolves have trouble with it. How can Jackson be expected to fare any better?

He needs a pack, if he wants to live. He knows he won’t survive as an Omega much longer. He doesn’t have a reliable anchor, he’s getting weaker every day, he wants to kill things all the time… It’s just luck that he hasn’t already attracted the attention of any local hunters. But then again… Maybe he has.

They’re nothing like the Argents, clearly, but, well, this is Britain. Things are backwards here.

But if they are hunters, they have a job to do tonight. There's always been a solution to his problem, and it's time to get it done. The decision is surprisingly easy, when it comes down to it.

He abandons the shards of ceramic on the kitchen floor, flings on his jacket, and sweeps out the door. His father calls after him, “Jackson, get back here and clean up this mess. Jackson! Where are you going?”

“Out,” he yells. _Obviously_. “Don’t follow me. I might not be back--” _at all_ \-- “for a while.”

“Wait! Jackson, where are you--” Jackson tunes out the rest of his father’s shouting as he slams the door shut behind him and stalks down the street. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Clyde peeking out his window across the street. _Fuck_. That’s not-- Clyde’s too curious and headstrong to leave this alone, he’s going to follow Jackson, and he shouldn’t-- He’s just a kid. He shouldn’t have to witness this. Jackson speeds up to a run. He needs to get there first.

He pounds on the door as soon as he arrives. So what if it’s rude? So what if it’s late, or they’re busy, or even if she doesn’t know? He can’t worry about that now. He needs this to end. He needs someone to fix this, and he doesn’t trust himself to do it right alone.

A middle-aged woman with brown hair and bright, friendly brown eyes pulls open the door, frowns briefly in confusion, then pastes on a warm smile. _So this is the illustrious Sarah Jane…_ “Hello. You’re from down the street, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. Jackson Whittemore. Nice to meet you. Can I come in? We need to talk.” He shifts impatiently, scowling as he fights back the transformation. He doesn’t have time for smalltalk.

“Oh-- sure, I suppose.” Her smile wavers in concern, but she lets him in. She studies him intently as he shrugs off his rain-dampened jacket and hangs it on one of the hooks by the door. No reason to leave her with wet floors to clean up, too, after what she'll already have to do. “Jackson. You’re Sky’s friend, right? She’s always talking about you. Did you want to see her?”

“We’re not friends,” he responds on reflex, before catching himself and forcing out what he needs to say. “No, this isn’t about Sky. Is there somewhere-- I don't want her to see this. Can we talk somewhere… private? Isolated.”

She eyes him warily. “Alright then, I suppose.” She looks around, apparently considering her options. “Follow me.” She leads the way upstairs, and he follows close behind her.

The attic is… eccentrically decorated, full of gadgets he’d have loved to investigate if he still had the ability to care. But, alas, he does not. He waits until she closes and locks the door behind them, then decides the best approach is just to jump right in. “I need you to kill me.”

Sarah Jane just blinks, dumbfounded, for a moment. “You-- what?”

“Look, you’re a hunter, right? I’m dangerous. If you don’t kill me now, _I’m_ gonna end up killing someone. So, please, just do it. Now, before I hurt anyone.” He paces restlessly, claws biting into his palms, shutting his eyes as they flash blue.

“I don’t understand. I don’t-- I’m not a hunter. I’m a journalist.” And, fuck. She isn’t lying. Jackson growls in frustration as he tries not to lash out at her. “Jackson… why don’t we sit down for a bit? We can figure this out.” Her voice is so gentle, so motherly, as she attempts to soothe him.

“No, I-- okay, fine, you aren’t a hunter. Whatever. But you can still do it. You _have to_. Please, I don’t want to hurt anyone else.” He wasn’t able to say this, last time, with Derek. But Derek already knew. It’s… not easy, at all, saying it now, but he has to. He can’t become a killer again.

“Why don’t you explain this to me, from the beginning?” Sarah Jane suggests, sitting on the nearby sofa.

“No, there _isn’t time!_ It’s the full moon _right now_. I can’t get myself under control, and if you don’t--”

Someone bangs on the door. “Sarah Jane, you alright in there?” Clyde shouts.

Jackson swears under his breath. It’s not just Clyde out there, either. He can hear two other heartbeats. Rani and Sky, then. “Get them out of here,” he growls. He’s shifting, now, despite his best efforts. They need to get out while they still can.

Sarah Jane’s eyes widen as she watches him change. She regards him for a moment, weighing her options, then calls out, “I’m fine, Clyde. Would you mind taking Sky out for some ice cream?”

“I’m not leaving,” Sky’s voice pipes up, and Jackson swears again.

“Sky, for once in your goddamn life, will you just listen to me and _get the hell out of here before I hurt you_ ,” Jackson roars, punching a hole in the nearest portion of wall.

“Nope,” she answers, her voice as annoyingly bright and cheerful as ever. “I’ll make you some tea.”

“ _Fine_. Fuck, I _give up_. I don’t even care anymore. You clearly have a death wish, and I’m not gonna waste any more effort trying to keep you alive. _Jesus_.” He throws his arms up in defeat and flops onto the chair facing Sarah Jane. His face relaxes back to human, but his claws stay out and his eyes still glow.

The expression on Sarah Jane’s face is an odd combination of confused, frightened, and amused by now. “Will you talk now?”

“No, I told you, there’s no time,” he growls, burying his face in his hands. “If you won’t-- fuck. Fine. If you won’t, then I guess I’ll have to do it myself. Should’ve just done it myself in the first place. I should’ve-- should’ve done this a long time ago. I’m sorry for dragging you into this. You should-- no. Sorry. _I’ll_ go.” He gets up, starts towards the door.

“Wait, Jackson--” Sarah Jane says, getting up and grabbing his arm to stop him.

“Don’t _touch_ me!” he shouts, throwing her hand off with much more force than he intended. She stumbles back a step in surprise, crying out in pain and clutching her wrist. He’d hit it at just the right angle to cause injury, of course. Just his fucking luck. “ _Shit_. I _told_ you! I told you I’d hurt you, and you _didn’t fucking listen!_ You just-- I’m sorry for the mess, but you’ll just have to deal with it, I can’t risk hurting anyone else--” he puts his claws to his own throat and hopes with everything he has that it’ll work, that it’ll be permanent this time and he won’t hurt anyone else.

“Jackson, what are you-- Stop!” she cries, rushing towards him and grabbing his wrists. Honestly, did she learn nothing from just ten fucking seconds ago? Does the woman have no sense of self-preservation? He's just about to say as much when she holds up a hand to silence him. "Mr. Smith, I need you," she says to the wall.

"What the _fuck_ ," he whispers in disbelief as fanfare sounds and the wall folds open to reveal some sort of computer.

"Good evening, Sarah Jane. I see we have a guest with us tonight," the wall says clinically.

"Yes, well observed, Mr. Smith," Sarah Jane says, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. "Would you mind restraining him, please? He seems worried he may hurt someone."

"Of course," the computer responds, obliging the request as Sarah Jane steps clear, enveloping Jackson in a shroud of energy.

" _What the fuck!_ " Jackson shouts, fighting against the energy field only to find himself barely able to wiggle in place.

"It's perfectly safe, Jackson," Sarah Jane states as soothingly as possible. "It's just a containment field. You won't be able to hurt anyone from in there."

"The second I get out of this thing, I'll kill you," he growls. He fights the restraints again, lets his eyes transform to see if werewolf vision will reveal any weak points. "Just let me out. Let me do what I came here to do."

Sarah Jane shakes her head. "I won't let you kill yourself, Jackson. You're restrained now, you're safe. Will you please talk to me?"

A gentle knock sounds from the door before he can speak. "Sarah Jane? Jackson? I brought up some tea," Sky calls from the other side.

"Shall I let her in?" Sarah Jane asks, looking at him expectantly.

He glares at her. "Not like I can do anything about it either way from in here," he grumbles. He really, really wants to kill her right now.

Sarah Jane takes that as consent and walks over to let Sky through the door. She unceremoniously slams the door shut in Clyde's face when he tries to peek in after her.

Jackson's nose twitches the second Sky enters the room. "French Breakfast? Seriously?"

She shrugs and grins unapologetically as she slides the tea tray onto the coffee table. "I like it. It's one of my favorites."

He rolls his eyes. "It would be." The blend is much sweeter than he usually likes. Fits her, though.

"Cream or sugar?" Sky asks, pouring a cup from the teapot. Jackson shakes his head to both. "Mr. Smith, would you lower the shield for a moment so I can hand him his tea?"

"Certainly." The energy field vanishes, and for the briefest moment, Jackson considers just making a break for it right now and finishing what he came here to do. Instead, he forces himself to sit on the nearby step and accept his cup of tea. Would be a shame for perfectly good tea to go to waste, after all.

He cradles the teacup as delicately as he can, trying his best not to break it. He frowns at the dark liquid as the steam rises. "It's too weak." He can already smell it. She didn't let it steep long enough.

Sky shrugs again as she steps away. "Sorry. I was in a hurry."

He sits there, just breathing the steam from the too-hot liquid for a moment, before remembering where he is and why. He looks up to meet Sky's expectant gaze. "Please leave."

Her face falls. "But I just--"

"Sky," he interrupts, "please. I don't want you here right now."

She hesitates a moment longer before sighing, nodding, and retreating to the door. "Alright. But I want the full story soon."

Jackson glares again at the energy field around him. "Not like I have many other options right now, anyway," he mutters, rolling his eyes as she shoots a grin back at him and pulls the door shut. He turns his attention back to the teacup in his hands. Too hot to comfortably drink, but maybe he deserves a good scalding. He winces as he takes a sip, scowls as the burns on his tongue almost instantly heal.

Sarah Jane studies him intently before speaking again. "Now can you tell me what all this is about?"

Jackson sighs and keeps his gaze fixed on his teacup. "You want the story? Fine. Just don't expect to like me very much afterwards."

"Why don't you let me decide that for myself?" Sarah Jane says as she pulls up a chair to sit facing him.

He raises an eyebrow at her. "Fine. But don't be surprised if you end up agreeing with my original plans for this evening." He then launches in on his tale, sparing none of the gory or unflattering details. From his start as rich, entitled, popular sports star, to his ambition driving him to ask for the Bite, to his transformation into kanima and killer, to his deaths and resurrections. Every horrible thing he did, every innocent person he murdered in cold blood. He even tells her all about what an asshole he was to Lydia.

Sarah Jane is silent for a few long minutes after he finishes his story. "You're not this... kanima thing now, though, right?"

"Nope. Just plain old werewolf." He sighs down at his teacup. At some point during his speech, he must've gripped it too hard. A long, thin crack now runs up one side.

"And you're still only human. I mean, from Earth."

Jackson snorts. "What, is that optional? Of course I'm from Earth." He drains the last sip of tea from the cup. Doesn't seem to be leaking yet, but he'd still rather not leave a mess on the floor.

"Jackson..." Sarah Jane starts with a sigh, "what you did... You know it isn't your fault."

He jerks up and glares at her incredulously. "Wh-- not my fault? _Not my fault?_ Weren't you listening? I asked for the Bite because I'm a greedy asshole who wanted to be the best at everything, no matter what it took. I turned into the kanima because 'sometimes the shape you take reflects the person that you are.' I'm a murderer. I killed innocent people. I almost killed my best friend. And I was a total jerk to the girl I love."

"You said yourself, you weren't in control of your actions when you were the kanima," Sarah Jane corrects with a brisk shake of her head. "That was Matt and Gerard. You, Jackson, are not a killer." He tries to interrupt, but she just keeps talking over him. "You're just a teenager. A strong-willed, ambitious one. And that's especially hard when you don't know where you came from. You can't keep blaming yourself for this."

"Yes, I can," he mutters petulantly, but most of the fight has gone out of him by now. Nothing about tonight has happened according to plan.

Sarah Jane studies him a moment longer, then moves to get up. "How about I get you some more tea? You can stay in here for tonight. Mr. Smith will make sure you stay contained, so you won't be able to hurt anyone. And any time you have trouble with this, you come right over, alright?"

He sighs and deflates. "I don't suppose you'll be giving me much choice in this."

"None at all," she confirms with a gentle smile.

"Fine," he grumbles, handing over the teacup as she deactivates the shield. "Sorry, I, uh... I kinda cracked the side a bit. I can replace it for you."

She waves off the offer. "It's fine. Don't worry about it. Happens to the best of us."

He mutters a begrudging thanks when she brings him a fresh cup of tea, glares again as the shield is reactivated.

She hovers a moment just outside the shield. "Would you like me to stay up here with you?"

He shakes his head emphatically. "No. Please. I'd prefer to be alone."

She frowns slightly. "You're sure you'll be alright on your own? You won't--"

"I'll be fine," he interrupts. "Can't do much from in here, anyway."

"Alright, then. Shout if you need anything." She retreats out the door. He eavesdrops as she explains to the teens what's going on, what he is. She sends Clyde and Rani home and herds Sky back to her room. She then calls Jackson's parents. He tenses for a moment, but relaxes again when all she does is assure them of where he is. He listens as she mutters to herself about a first aid kit, then wraps her injured wrist. He curses himself for being so careless, curses again the fact that he's now trapped here in a stranger's attic, curses his lack of freedom and his inability to complete the task he came here to accomplish.

The handle snaps clean off the teacup in his hands, derailing his train of thought. He almost gives in to his moon-addled instincts and flies into another rage, but he stops himself just in time. The restraints wouldn't allow him to accomplish much anyway, and he still has tea to drink.

 _It’s okay, it's okay_ , he chants to himself as he tries to remember how to breathe, tries to remind himself that he does still want to be alive. _It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s_ \-- fuck it. No. It’s not okay. It really, really isn’t. But he-- he didn’t hurt anyone, not-- at least not seriously. It might be okay later. It’s… progress.

 _Tea. Just, drink your tea, and don’t kill anyone_ , he tells himself. _You don’t have to die yet. Just drink your tea, and figure shit out later_. He huddles up against the step and cradles his mug, letting the smell and the heat anchor him to reality. The steady sound of Sarah Jane’s and Sky’s sleep-calm breathing and heartbeats from downstairs, and the gentle hum of electronics from Mr. Smith generating the shield, help steady him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again for the extended wait time. Internet access is sporadic at best. Also, it's a bit harder to get in the right mindset for writing this story when I'm spending the bulk of my time hiking through endless forests with the world's most enthusiastically happy beagle. Fresh air and puppies are not the right environment from which to be writing depression and angst. Bodes quite well for Stiles' next story, though. Tons of action and adventure in that one.
> 
> This chapter gets to the fun part. Lots of snarky!Jackson and plot, two of my favorite things.

"God fucking damn it," Jackson mutters as three trays clunk down on the table around him at lunch the next day. "I thought I made it clear this morning, I want nothing to do with any of you. Leave me the hell alone." He glares murderously as Rani, Clyde, and Sky ignore his protestations and claim their new seats.

"Not gonna happen, mate," Clyde says with a grin. "You're one of us now."

"Don't I get a choice in this?" Jackson complains, looking to Rani for help. Of all of them, she seems the most likely to listen to reason.

Unfortunately, that doesn't seem to be happening this time. "Nope. Sorry," she says with a sheepish smile.

"I knew it," he mutters, shaking his head and glaring at his lunch. "I knew it was a bad choice to go to you guys for help last night. Should've just dealt with it myself. Would've made everything so much simpler."

Sky's small hand on his arm startles him. "No, you really shouldn't have," she says gently.

He glares at her until she pulls her hand away. He hates being coddled. "Fuck off," he says, though not with nearly as much fervor as he'd intended. "You are still not my friend. What happened last night will never happen again. I don't want your pity, and I don't need your help."

"You're bloody well right it won't happen again," she says, and he jerks upright in shock at hearing such language from her. "Because we _are_ friends, and from now on you'll have our help whether you want it or not."

He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. "Fuck my life," he grumbles. Time for a change in tactics, maybe. "Ugh. Fine. If I'm stuck with all of you, then you might as well tell me what the hell that was, back in Sarah Jane's attic."

"You didn't get the whole story last night?" Clyde asks with a frown.

Jackson glares at him incredulously. "I was a bit preoccupied."

"Oh. Right." Clyde wilts in on himself for a moment, but perks up again as his attention wanders. "Well, you're one of us now. You _should_ hear all of it."

"See, Sarah Jane used to travel with this fantastic man called the Doctor. He's an alien, called a Time Lord. They went on adventures together, through time and space," Rani explains. "And now she investigates all sorts of alien activity here, with our help."

“Aliens. Right. Because that makes sense,” Jackson drawls with an exaggerated eye roll.

“Jackson, you’re a _werewolf_. You’re seriously going to question the existence of aliens?” Rani asks. Jackson is tempted to concede the point to her, because, honestly, _werewolves_ , but no. It’s too much. It’s too ridiculous.

“This is _ridiculous_ ,” he informs them.

“But it’s the truth!” Clyde insists. "Sky's an alien, too, actually."

"Remember when I told you I was a weapon?" Sky asks, and Jackson inclines his head in affirmation. "I was created by the flesh-kind, to help them win their war against the metal-kind. I was a bomb. Someone brought me here, and Sarah Jane adopted me. She figured out how to stop them and deactivate me so I wouldn't have to explode."

He stares at her, trying to decide if she's lying, insane, or what. Her heart rate hasn't changed, so she obviously believes what she's been saying, but that doesn't automatically make it true. " _You're_ an alien?" he asks. "You don't look very alien."

"But I am!" Sky insists. "I can sometimes make lights blow up. And Mr. Smith is a bit nervous around me. He's always afraid I'll make him short circuit."

"And I suppose you want me to believe he's alien, too," Jackson guesses. At least that one is more believable than the idea that Sky is some sort of alien bomb.

"Yep," Clyde confirms. "He's an artificially intelligent supercomputer in an alien crystal. He's called a Xylok. A ship crashed here thousands of years ago, and Sarah Jane found him."

Jackson catches sight of New Guy at his usual table, glancing back at their group's new seating configuration, and thinks, maybe, if they're really sticking with the alien thing, they might have some idea about what the guy's deal is. “Ugh, _fine_. I’m not saying I believe you,” he says, glaring at each of them as he speaks, “because I don’t, but just for the sake of argument, let’s pretend you’re not all insane. What kind of alien, then, would smell like dead human skin-suit and bad breath, have a really good sense of smell, and look at Sky like it wants to eat her? Or, I don’t know, use her to blow up a small planet or something,” he amends, because, hey, if they insist on claiming Sky’s an alien weapon designed to destroy an entire race, maybe that’s what New Guy has planned. Hell if he knows.

Clyde frowns. “Calcium decay, and using a human skin suit? You’re sure?”

Jackson throws up his arms in frustration. “Of _course_ I’m not sure, this whole thing is idiotic. That’s just what he smells like.” He pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head. “God, just… whatever. Forget it. Forget I said anything. This is so stupid. You’re crazy, all of you.” He pulls his history textbook out of his bag and resolves to ignore them all for the rest of the lunch period.

“It sounds like the Slitheen,” Clyde offers.

“That’s not even a word,” Jackson counters, glaring at the page before him. This chapter’s so boring. He should’ve gone with his math book instead. Easier to get absorbed in solving an equation than reading about dead people.

“It’s their surname, actually,” Rani corrects him. “They’re a family of criminals from the planet Raxacoricofallapatorius.”

Jackson looks up at her incredulously. “Now you’re just making things up. That’s the stupidest name for a planet I’ve ever heard.” He’s supposed to be ignoring them, dammit. Stupid boring history book. He trades it out with his math book and notepad, diving in on the toughest problems for tonight’s homework.

“What do you think they want this time?” Clyde asks, as if the Slitheen are actually a real thing.

“Well, like he said,” Rani answers. “They probably want to use Sky somehow.”

“How did they even find out about me?” Sky asks. Jackson’s been wondering when she might chime in on this. And now she looks worried. “And how do they plan on making that work? I’ve been deactivated.”

“Maybe they don’t know that,” Clyde speculates. “Or maybe they know a way to reactivate you. Whatever it is, we need to find out. We’ll talk to Sarah Jane tonight--“

Jackson thunks his head down on the table. “You people are such idiots,” he mutters. He slams his book shut and shoves everything into his bag. “Fine. You know what? Why don’t I just ask him.” He pulls a packet of gum out of his bag, gets up, and marches over to the table where New Guy sits, ignoring the protests of the others. “You,” he announces, pointing at New Guy, “stay. The rest of you, leave,” he orders the group sitting at the table. When they all just give him confused, annoyed looks, he narrows his eyes and growls. “ _Now_.” A few of them actually look scared at that point, grab their friends and scurry away. He plops down in the seat across from New Guy and tosses the packet of gum at him.

The gesture’s a familiar one by now. He’s been shoving packets of gum at the guy nearly every day for the past two weeks, keeping an eye on him, letting him know he’s watching, but also letting him know they don’t necessarily have to be enemies. “Oh, thanks, you didn’t have to--“

“Shut up,” Jackson interrupts. “We both know it’s not your breath that stinks. You’re not human, so what are you?”

“What-- I have no idea what you’re talking about,” New Guy says, holding the gum closer, as if it will shield him from Jackson’s interrogation.

“Yes, you do,” Jackson counters. “Are you a Slytherin?” No, wait, that doesn't sound right...

"Slitheen," New Guy corrects reflexively. Then he realizes what he's said, and he freezes, eyes widening comically. "Wait, no, I mean--"

Well, that was easier than expected. “Oh my god, you’re as crazy as they are,” Jackson mutters. “Okay, fine. If that’s how you’re playing it. Then what do you want with Sky?”

It takes New Guy a moment to recover from his little _oh shit_ moment, but when he does, his face darkens. “Revenge.”

Jackson glares at him incredulously. “Dude, she’s, like, thirteen. What the hell could she have done to you?”

New Guy shakes his head. “Not on her. On Sarah Jane Smith,” he says, spitting out the name like it's poisonous. “She’s killed so many of my cousins, cost our family billions in ruined plans. She--“

Jackson rolls his eyes. “You’re breaking my heart, really. I’m sure you have some terribly tragic sob story about how some puny human female ruined your life, or whatever. I’m sure you think you’re completely justified in hating her. I honestly could not care less. But I will tell you one thing,” he says, leaning in to look in New Guy’s eyes, “you want to leave Sky out of it.”

New Guy smirks and raises a challenging eyebrow at him. “Why? You going to protect her? Be her knight in shining armor?”

“I’m no one’s savior,” Jackson says, shaking his head. "No, I won't be protecting her. But if you touch her, or any of your crazy relatives try to hurt her or use her in any way, I will kill you."

New Guy laughs. "Aww, that's adorable. You really think you'd stand a chance against us?"

Jackson grins, letting the other boy see just a glimpse of too-sharp teeth, and lets his eyes glow blue for a fraction of a second. "Yeah, I really do."

New Guy's eyes widen. "Oh, now _that's_ a neat trick. How did you do that? What are you?"

"None of your business," Jackson says with a purely human grin this time, "and trust me, you want to keep it that way."

"I like you," New Guy declares, returning his grin. "Too bad you're on their side, or we could be great friends."

Jackson shrugs. "Like I said, I'm not on their side, or yours. If you want to be my friend, fine. Just stay away from Sky."

"Hm. Not sure I can swing that," he says, tapping his fingers against his lips thoughtfully. "But I'll see what I can do."

"Alright, then," Jackson says, getting to his feet. "Glad we had this little chat. It was quite... enlightening." He holds his hand out for New Guy to shake.

"Indeed," the other boy agrees, gripping Jackson's hand with beyond-human strength. If Jackson had been only human, he would certainly be walking away with broken bones. "Always a pleasure."

"Likewise," Jackson says with a smirk, matching the other boy's grip. New Guy raises an eyebrow in appreciative surprise, and lets go first. Jackson nods a goodbye at him as he turns to walk back to Sky and the others. He reclaims his seat in silence and takes his math book back out, ignoring the teens waiting restlessly around him.

"Well?" Clyde finally asks after a drawn-out moment of awkward silence. "What did he say?"

"It looked... um... friendly," Rani offers. "Are we all good, then?"

"Hm?" Jackson grunts, writing out the solution to the equation he'd started earlier. "Oh. That. No, I was right. They're planning on using Sky somehow, to get revenge on Sarah Jane. Apparently they don't appreciate having their family members murdered and their investments destroyed. Go figure."

"They were trying to destroy the planet!" Clyde squawks indignantly. Jackson wonders how anyone ever takes him seriously. "It was self-defense!"

Jackson shrugs, still half-focused on his math book. "Not the way they see it."

"Well, now that we know what they're up to, we can work out a plan to stop them," Rani decides. "We'll need to meet at Sarah Jane's straight away after school--"

"I'm not joining you," Jackson says. "I'm not included in this 'we.'"

"What-- of course you are!" Rani cries. "You're on the team now. Don't you want to help save Sky?"

Jackson shrugs. "Not particularly. Not really my problem any more." The bell rings, signaling the end of the lunch period, calling them to their classes. "Have fun storming the castle," he quotes at them as he gathers his things and gets up. He abandons them there, gaping after him, and walks away without a backward glance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fixed a typo and made a tiny edit to dialogue. I feel much better now.
> 
> New chapter coming very soon. Sorry again for delays. Ugh, life.


End file.
